


The Spaces Between

by mallepa



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fantasizing, Fluff and Angst, Humor, I just wanted to write about Tifa and relationships ok!!, Implied Relationships, It's eventually Cloti though because I'm trash, Mutual Pining, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, She dates a lot of people but it's mostly a Tifa story, Sort Of, The setting and locations are familiar but it's not canon obv, This is a Tifa story, Well mostly resolved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28971414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mallepa/pseuds/mallepa
Summary: "Sometimes you can never know a person, like, you just can’t. Even if you love them. Even if I loved him."Tifa really struggles to connect with others and she doesn't know why (note: she absolutely knows why). There are those gaps, you know? The ones that your imagination takes hold of and doesn't let go. And she's so bad at letting go.
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife, Tifa Lockhart/Reno, Tifa Lockhart/Rude
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

It’s been four weeks and I still can’t get rid of the sunglasses. 

At some point, I convinced myself he’d come back for them, because he was always really fond of this pair, like dangerously so. And no matter what he thought of me, I thought his attachment to his things would always hold firm. He was always really direct like that. He hated cucumbers and he wouldn’t say it often, but when he did, it was with that kinda quiet strength I loved. One of those things I’d always remember. And I will, I think. I’ll always remember.

I don’t need to remember these things anymore.

Breakups are hard.

Aerith says I’ve been so used to being down that this breakup feels like a shock to my system. She heard it from a relationship guru. I don’t know what it means.

“It’s like Stockholm Syndrome,” she tells me over a Mideel sangria. She is drinking it at a bar in Sector 7; I am lying on the floor of my tiny apartment, thinking about the sunglasses in the night-table drawer, the one closest to the side where he would sleep.

“I wasn’t being held hostage,” I tell her. “I loved him.”

“Oooh, past tense.”

I don’t know what to say to that. Wouldn’t it be denial if I couldn’t at least admit that I was in love? Wouldn’t it be less painful for me to admit that than to tell her the truth--that I was dumped and I feel more like the hardwood I’m lying on than a breathing person right now?

What would her relationship guru have to say about that?

“You need to get out more, Teef,” she says. “Rude wasn’t even, like, your first boyfriend or whatever.”

This is true. He was my second.

My first: _him_. I don’t talk about that often.

Yes, Rude was my second, and so he’s the second one to leave me. Not that I have a record or anything (I definitely have a record), and not that I would’ve felt better if I did the leaving, but it’s just notable to me that he left and I’m here, on the floor, wondering how long those sunglasses can stay in my apartment before I either set them on fire or gift them to a sometimes-friend. I have so many sometimes-friends, and for some reason, they are all vegan.

I shift against the floor so I’m staring up at the ceiling. “Who’s your relationship guy?”

“ _Girl_ ,” she corrects, “and she’s fucking amazing. Do you wanna set up an appointment?”

“I want to get rid of these sunglasses.”

“And she can help you with that,” she coos, a softness in her voice. Aerith looks like she is soft all the time, but I’ve seen her hard edges and I’m so accustomed to them that I feel more at ease imagining her telling me to ‘get it together’ or something. So I do. In my mind, she is fed up. She hates the sunglasses too. “Her name’s Elena.”

“Elena?” I know an Elena: blonde, sometimes too serious, doesn’t like it when people hum the next verse in a song before it gets there. 

“Yes,” Aerith presses on. “And you’ll love her. She’s new at it, but my gods, she’s a-ma-zing.”

Well, I wouldn’t describe Aerith’s Elena as amazing, because she just so happens to be the same Elena I know: blonde, sometimes too serious, doesn’t like it when people have any fun, and is somehow now coaching people on relationships.

Aerith sets something up at Elena’s apartment, and when I walk in, Elena has her legs crossed sitting on a sofa that doesn’t look comfy at all. The corner of her mouth twitches when she sees me, almost as an acknowledgement that someone else has entered her space.

The first thing she says to me is: “You got dumped.”

Everyone knows this by now. It’s not a secret. But still, I want to cry and run away to my tiny apartment so I can sit on the floor and think about the sunglasses.

Elena holds out her hand, waving her fingers in a come hither gesture, as if she’s beckoning both me and the glasses. I don’t even try to pretend I didn’t bring them. Quickly, I hand them to her. She examines them as if they’re inscribed. “When we hold onto things in the material plane, especially from past relationships, they block us.” Her words are so crisp, so serious, so much like a person who hates hearing other people hum.

Aerith is nodding slowly in my peripheral. I hear her whisper a soft, “Yessss.”

“You won’t be needing these anymore,” Elena tells me, and sets the sunglasses on the sofa beside her. “I want to ask you to leave them here with me. Is that okay with you?”

I take a pensive step forward and she shields the sunglasses with her hand. Now I think I really will cry. “I don’t know…” I mumble, eyes glued on the metal frame beneath her manicured fingers. “I just…”

“Is there anything you want to say?” Elena raises an eyebrow, then raises her hand. “To the glasses?”

Is she serious?

This is stupid.

(I want to say that I’m not used to being alone. I’m so bad at it. I’ve never met loneliness before--after my mom passed away, after my dad started working more, after I came to Midgar and made friends with people who didn’t believe we had running water in Nibelheim, I always had _somebody_ . And it’s sad to say, but I really thought--I mean, I _really_ thought Rude would be that somebody for a long time. We fit so well together. He knows everything about me, and I thought I knew everything about him. But I guess you can never really know somebody. I guess there’s too many blanks we let each other fill in because we’re scared of being too direct, too concrete, whatever. Not leaving anything to the imagination. Not leaving any gaps.)

This is stupid.

“I’m not talking to the glasses,” I tell her. But I can’t stop staring at them.


	2. Chapter 2

Elena tells me to go on dates with men who I normally wouldn’t go for. Aerith thinks this is excellent advice and as we leave Elena’s apartment, I can only hope Aerith did not pay for this consultation.

Like a good friend, Aerith takes me to a bar where happy hour began at 11am and is showing no signs of stopping. She orders a Mideel sangria. “I’m obsessed,” she tells me as a buff-looking waiter strolls one to our table. Aerith winks at him. She’s so good at this, showing off and stuff. If the waiter looks at me, I couldn’t tell because I’m busy trying to find my reflection in the table. It’s wood. Polished, though.

“So let’s talk about your  _ type _ .” The way Aerith says type makes me feel like she’s already building a checklist in her head. “Rude and… who was your boyfriend before that?”

I get cold suddenly and wish I brought a sweater to cover my arms or blanket for my bare legs. It’s not shorts weather at all.

Also, I’m so nervous. “We don’t have to talk about him,” I say, trying to sound as casual as possible. In reality, I’m starting to shake a little bit. I can’t even think about him without spiralling. 

Maybe he was the first person I ever was in love with, but maybe I’m wrong about that too.

“Okay…?” Aerith snorts. “But we have to, so we can determine your type and then throw all of that away. Was he, hmm, like…” She stops to take a sip of her drink. “Was he quiet and solemn just like Rude?”

“N-no.”

“Did he like fishing?”

“There are no natural resources in Midgar.”

“Well, you said it was when you were younger, right? So it would be Nibelheim, if I remember correctly.”

She doesn’t need to remember correctly. Actually, there’s no need for her to remember at all. We don’t need to talk about him.

I flag down a waiter and order a drink. Cosmo Canyon. The red liquid arrives at our table and I down it all without a second thought, because now all my thoughts are of  _ him _ and what he might be doing right now and if he still looks the same and if he remembers when I let him finger me at school and, also, if Rude will call me and ask for those sunglasses back. 

The cool liquid hits the pit of my stomach, exacerbating my nerves. Damn. “Let’s just try it this way,” I tell Aerith. “I have, um, never dated a guy who works with his hands.” This is not true. They all do, eventually. “I’ve never dated a guy who’s more talkative than I am.”

“You’re not very talkative.”

“Find me someone who is,” I say. If I was bolder, I would say it more like a challenge, but when my words hit my ears, they sound like a request. A wish.  _ Find me someone who isn’t like  _ him _ at all _ , I want to say, but then I’d have to tell her what he was like. How good he was with me.

I need another drink. 

When does happy hour end?

Aerith grabs another Mideel sangria and dares me to ask out the bartender. “He keeps looking over here,” she whispers at me, though it’s really not necessary because it’s getting noisier in here. The bartender has red hair. He’s polishing glasses and every now and then, he’ll look over at our table. I bet he’s just waiting until we order another round of drinks, but Aerith is now three sangrias in and she thinks he wants to fuck me.

“Sooooo not true,” I slur. I am also three Cosmo Canyons deep.

She snort-giggles and clasps her hands together. “Well, either you or me,” she says. Then, she touches her cheek with her left hand. “But I can’t. I’m a kept woman now.”

“Honestly,  _ enough  _ already. You’re not dating him.” Aerith thinks she is going to be married to this guy she met once. He bought her a coffee after her favourite cafe screwed up her order. Then, she followed him to work, a Shinra security building at the edge of Sector 5. His name is Zack. Because she burned her tongue on her coffee when she tried to introduce herself, he thinks her name is ‘Aeris’. They are not dating at all.

Aerith rolls her eyes. “Well, not yet anyway. But I have a plan.”

“You’re going to break into his work?”

Her eyebrow twitches. That was definitely her plan. “I have a  _ plan _ ,” she reiterates--and then she sits up straight as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been. “The bartender is coming over,” she hisses.

“Sorry?”

“The bartender!”

I freeze. My stomach rolls into one tight knot. Even though it’s packed in here and the scent of beer and hops fills the crowded bar, I can still smell a hint of foreign cologne, something spicy and dark, waft up behind me. 

It is the bartender. He has a tattoo on his arm. Before I can stop myself, I ask, “What’s that a tattoo of?”

He doesn’t seem too repulsed by my question, so I figure he gets it a lot. Without glancing down, he says, “Basilisk.”

Why? Why would anyone do that?

Aerith is eyeing me as if it means something. She is wiggling her eyebrows, raising them up and down with peak suggestiveness. She is too drunk to realize everyone can see this happening.

“I, uh, just wanted to make sure you ladies knew we were wrapping up happy hour,” he tells us. His eyes land on me and I glance away, my chest feverishly warm. 

“Oh, so it does wrap up?” Aerith stage-whispers to me.

The bartender is standing close enough to me that I feel I know him. Something about his presence is so familiar, as if we came here together and he’s just returning from a round of checking in with friends around the bar. Maybe he’s very social. Maybe he’s the type of guy who’s talkative and open and knows how to communicate before things go south and we have to make up stories about one another. Maybe he calls his Mom every weekend.

I wish I was bolder. I would ask him everything.

“One more of each,” Aerith pipes up, gesturing to each glass. “Will you be bringing them over to us?”

I don’t look but I can hear a casual chuckle, a smirk, effortless confidence. “If that’s what you want.”

“Oh, mmm, yes.”

He disappears and I want to go too.

“When he comes back, ask for his number,” Aerith says, nudging me under the table with her foot. She holds up a finger before I start to protest. “He’s definitely into you. And he doesn’t seem like your type at all, so why not, right?”

“He’s not into me,” I tell her. “Maybe he’s just fishing for a tip.”

“So then give him what he wants.” She sips the dregs of her drink. “You know what I mean.”

“Unfortunately, I do.”

He comes back with our drinks quickly, sliding Aerith hers before resting mine in front of me. We hold eye contact for four seconds. Four whole seconds. When I look away, I flutter my eyelashes to soften the imprint of his eyes on mine, but that feeling, that stomach knot, that thrill of being wanted stays with me. 

He says his name is Reno. We’re meeting tomorrow evening.


	3. Reno

It takes me an hour to settle on a long skirt and strapless top because I haven’t gone anywhere nice in awhile. A part of me feels this is too dressy for a date at the chocobo races, especially because they’re just being livestreamed from the Gold Saucer. Still, I show up in strappy sandals and meet Reno by the arena’s front doors. 

His shirt is untucked in that casual way that I bet is typical of male models. The sleeves are rolled up enough, showing both his tattoo and very toned forearms. I try to focus on his face.

“You look amazing,” he tells me with a sheepish grin. 

I’m so bad at accepting compliments in close proximity. I can send heart emojis after sending nudes or something, but I never know what to do with my face or my hands in person. 

“So do you,” I tell him.

He doesn’t look phased. Maybe he gets compliments all the time.

“We’re gonna miss the start of the race,” he tells me, and leads me into the arena.

It turns out Reno is a regular. He has seats up in the box, which has one of the better views of the main screen. “Do you want anything to drink?” he asks as I take my seat. There are cup holders by each chair. They look relatively clean.

When I don’t reply right away, he smirks and says, “Wait, I got it. A Cosmo Canyon, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” I tell him. He snaps his fingers into a thumbs up. I’ve never seen anyone do this in real life. It’s endearing and I chuckle because I don’t want to come off as unlikeable. 

I guess it matters if he likes me. Aerith is convinced he wants to sleep with me, but does he  _ like _ me? I always wonder how easy it is for someone to fall in ‘like’ with someone else. And then it begs the question: how can he like me if he doesn’t know anything about me?

The race starts with a howl from the crowd. Several people jump out of their seats, clutching ticket stubs and praying their chocobo comes in first. Reno is one of those people, gawking at the screen and barely blinking as the birds race through the course.

But I want to talk to him. How is he supposed to pay attention to me when I’m not a large, brightly coloured bird?

I clear my throat twice before he sinks back to his seat. Embarrassment flashes on his face as if this isn’t something he does often. “Sorry, babe,” he says. “I always get way too into this shit.”

He’s calling me ‘babe’? Are we already at pet names? Am I okay with being addressed as ‘babe’?

I can’t process this right now.

“It’s, uh, it’s fine,” I tell him, practising another smile. “Um, tell me about yourself. Did you grow up in Midgar?”

One eye on the screen, one eye on me. “Yeah.”

One word answer.

“Topside? Not to say there’s anything wrong with the slums, of course.”

He nods. “Topside. My parents are, like, architecture people. I’ve never been into that myself. Urban planning just isn’t for me.”

“Of course, that’s so understandable,” I say with too much certainty for someone who doesn’t know what goes into urban planning. 

He claps his hands together suddenly, and then points to the large screen. “See? 1136 always pulls through. That’s my lucky number.”

“You come here often?” I ask. I already know the answer.

“Yep!” I could guess. “Every week.”

“And have you won a lot of money, or…?” It comes out judgey and drab, but Reno doesn’t seem to notice. He’s focused on the way the chocobos skip and turn around the race course. 

After a moment’s silence, he nods like something is pulling his head back and forth. “Yeah. Well, okay, no. Not really. But!” he turns to me. “I’ve found, like, a really good source that can get me hookups on races. If you know what I mean.”

I don’t, but I nod like I do. He seems satisfied by that, and when he settles back in his seat, he reaches over to rest his hand on my leg. I catch myself thinking, ‘ _ Good, this is going so well. _ ’ My mind is so clouded with the yells and cheers from the crowd, from the way Reno’s eyes light up at the screen every time this 1136 edges ahead of another chocobo, and for a moment, I kinda wish he would look at me like that. Like he’s falling in like with me. Like he wants to know more about who I am and what my favourite food is.

I was born in Nibelheim after my parents came back from Wutai. They were visiting my mom’s family, and the second they landed back home, my mom went into labour. I was born six hours later. Doctors say that’s fast, and that’s the reason I’ve avoided the idea of childbirth. In what world is six hours a short labour? I’m terrified. Growing up, I had never thought I would ever do that for any man, you know, get pregnant and push out his children. I would have to love him a lot. I absolutely would have to be in love.

My mom passed away when I was seven. The entire town came to her funeral, not just because she was well-liked, but because she always baked these milk buns around harvest festival time and they were so good. It was crack, I swear. People were hooked on them, sad that she passed away, but also devastated that the closest milk bun dealer was now in Gongaga. 

After Mom died, Dad went into overdrive with work. He wasn’t home a whole lot. Stuff happened in between. Then, by the time I was seventeen, we found our way to Midgar after he convinced a consulting firm that he could enhance their city planning division. I hated Midgar at first because the air wasn’t clean, even though we were living topside, and the water tasted waxy. You get used to it. As with all things in Midgar, you just have to get used to it.

I am sometimes employed. I used to work at a gym, then a bar, then a nail salon, then a bar again. I enjoy watching news broadcasts like I personally know all the newscasters, I like pizza that’s a little bit overcooked, and I’ve never actually learned to ride a bike.

This is what I’d tell Reno if he asked me. But he doesn’t. He barely says a word to me afterwards. He keeps his hand on my knee for so long I think he’s lost feeling in it, but when the race is over and his chocobo doesn’t win, his hand slumps back to his lap. He wipes his hands down his face, aggravated in defeat, and I reach over, lean a bit closer to him, like my presence will matter. That we can maybe be as close as I felt we were that day at the bar, when he came up beside me and I felt I knew him already. 

I so desperately want him to feel like he knows me. That’s probably why I say yes when he asks me back to his apartment.


	4. Chapter 4

Aerith says Elena says I need to break up with Reno. 

“He’s not good for you,” Aerith says Elena says.

Elena has never met Reno. We’re at her apartment. She’s going off what Aerith has told her, which is that he’s hot, he has a basilisk tattoo, and he goes to the chocobo races every week. “He invests a lot of money on gambling,” Elena tells me in her strict, funless way. “But then, how much is he  _ investing _ in you?”

I frown. “Do you mean monetarily, or?”

“I know you’re in desperate need of a rebound,” Aerith goes on. “But can your rebound at least be someone who, I don’t know, will take you out to nice places? Will tell his friends about you? Will go down on you when you ask?”

I have been dating Reno for three weeks and he hasn’t gone down on me once. I haven’t asked, though. I’m so bad at asking for what I want. Contrarily, I have successfully given a dozen blowjobs.

“You told me to ask him for his number, remember?” I say, to which Aerith huffs and looks the other way. “So I don’t know how you can be so against this right now.”

“Yes, well, I was five sangrias in!” I thought it was three. “Tifa, he’s a bartender. What kind of a future do you really think you can have with a guy like that?”

Elena nods her agreement. She sits watching me as if she’s waiting to channel advice from the heavens.

“But I like Reno.” I know it’s pointless to say, but it’s true. Sure, he’s not the best boyfriend I’ve ever had, but when I stay at his place, he puts his arm around me before we go to bed. He always asks if I’m cold. He kisses my forehead before he completely nods off. And for a moment, while he’s asleep and I feel the soft rise and fall of his chest, I think maybe I could be in love with him. Maybe that’s worth it for now.

Elena physically cringes when she hears me say it. Aerith throws her head back, her mouth slack open as if she can’t believe it.

I frown again, and harder if possible. “I thought you told me to date someone not like my type at all.”

“Yes, but gainfully employed,” Elena says with a grimace. 

Rude worked in security. He worked 50 hours a week, and sometimes when he came to see me, he was cranky and didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to have sex. Nothing. And I was tired too, either from bingeing shows all day or convincing my dad I didn’t need to go back to school. Still, I’d come home and cook something traditional because I thought that was what I was supposed to do. I could tell he appreciated it sometimes. He would make an effort to say, “You don’t need to do all this for me,” while he rested his head in the crook of my neck. But it made me feel valuable, important, to be someone he could rely on, even if it was for one thing. 

I don’t know why I’m saying this. I just miss him, that’s all.

“It’s only been three weeks,” I tell them. “I don’t think it’s fair to judge him based on the fact we’ve only been seeing each other for three weeks.”

Elena turns up her nose and says, “Three weeks and zero cunnilingus does not a relationship make,” like it’s a proverb.

“Give me a week,” I say. “I feel like I’m still getting to know him.”

And how much can you really know a person, anyway?

I keep telling myself I should be happy with what I have. I’m trying to fill in the gaps, the same way I’m sure everyone does, when they imagine their boyfriend existing outside of them. Where does he go when he’s not with me? What does he like? Who does he talk to? 

Out of embarrassment, I don’t go back to the bar that Reno works at. I don’t want to sit there, alone but not lonely, and have to explain to anyone who asks that my boyfriend is the bartender. Somehow, it feels weird and possessive to do that. And I bet he would hate it, me watching him so intently. He would give me a drink every now and then, but he’d do it in a generally flirty way, like I’m just any other customer instead of someone special to him. That is, if I am someone special to him. I’d like to think so.

I want to ask him but I don’t know how, so I pretend I’m going to accompany him to the races next week. On the evening of, I show up at his place so we can go together. He looks dishevelled but fuckable, and I hate that that’s the first thing I think of.

“Actually…” I sigh and touch my forehead, brushing my hair aside slightly. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to go with you tonight.”

“Aww, really?” He bites down on his lip. “I was hoping after that we’d get dinner somewhere. There’s this really cool place I think you might like.”

Dinner? At a place he thinks I’d like? This is my weakness: being thought of, being catered to. I push aside the idea of asking him what I really mean to him, because this proves it. He  _ does  _ think I’m special. He does think of me, at least.

“Cool, never mind,” I give a short, comically obvious laugh. “I’m good to go. What kind of cuisine?”

He tells me all about this lobster dish that’s served in season, one that he’s only had a few times because it’s so rare. My mouth waters at the idea of eating something so exclusive with someone I’m so desperate to know. For the first time since we started seeing each other, I feel like we’re hitting a really good stride. At the race, in his box, we talk about our mothers. It’s awkward but intimate; an important step on the road towards bonding.

His hand finds its way to my knee again and I grab onto his fingers, holding his hand steadily in mine. He doesn’t pull away.

Every time I see 1136 rush down the track, I find myself hoping it’ll go faster so we can hurry up, get out of here, and get to a place where there is lobster with lemon and herb flavouring. 

Reno looks tense, his palm growing clammier in my grasp, so I hold on tighter, because that’s what I do. I am a clencher. His eyes are focused on the large screen, his mouth hanging slack while he watches. I want to kiss him, but I don’t want to distract him. Still, it would be nice to run my tongue across his lips and enjoy what the promise of a real relationship tastes like. I don’t even know if he likes public displays of affection. If there was no one here, would he mind if I kissed him? If we did other things?

Suddenly, he gasps, “Holy  _ fuck _ ,” and my eyes rip from his face to the screen. I have no idea what’s going on. “Fucking 1237? Really?”

I guess another chocobo won.

Before I can squeeze his hand tighter, he wiggles free from my grasp and does his customary wipes-hand-down-face, runs-hand-through-hair thing. I put on my best disappointed face so he’ll know I’m a good girlfriend. “So sorry, babe,” I tell him with a pout. “We should go, though. Maybe we can talk about it at the restaurant.”

He glances at me before he’s able to pull his hands from his face and sink back into his seat. Something about his aura is different. He doesn’t look at me when I mention the restaurant. He doesn’t look at me at all. “It’d have to be another day,” he says.

I raise an eyebrow. “But why?”

“Uh, well, I lost, so…” And he spreads his hands out, palms up, as if to say, ‘there it is’. 

It takes me a second to register what he’s talking about, but when it clicks, it  _ clicks _ . “You… don’t have any money?”

“I  _ would’ve _ ,” he rushes to correct. “But things don’t always end up the way you plan, you know?”

I know. I kept a pair of sunglasses for four weeks thinking that they would bring back their owner. I’m aware.

Still, I was promised a lobster.

Reno reaches over, kisses me just below my ear, whispers he’s sorry. Before he can get the words out, I’m already saying it’s okay.


	5. Chapter 5

Three weeks has turned to three months.

Reno dyes his hair. 

I find the box of hair dye in his bathroom after I stay the night, and for some reason, it really bothers me. I’m so angry that it’s been three months and I had no idea he wasn’t a natural redhead. Who  _ is _ he? Doesn’t he think this is the kind of thing you’re supposed to tell the person you’re sleeping with? Or, at the very least, your girlfriend?

He hasn’t asked me. I’m just assuming.

Just like I assumed he didn’t dye his hair!

When I confront him, he is as confused as I am angry. “I don’t - I don’t understand,” he says absently. Oh, and he’s not even looking at me. He’s staring at his phone, swiping through the latest race stats. He’s been like this for two days.

The more I try to piece it together in my head, the more I realize I don’t understand either. I say, “You could’ve at least told me,” but it really doesn’t make sense, the reason why I’m angry. 

He glances at me. “Why?”

“ _ Why _ ?” 

Yes, why?

Because I have been in this place before, where gaps and imagination don’t bridge people together; they tear them apart.

Because it’s something so small and insignificant, but it’s still something small and insignificant that I don’t know.

Because I so desperately want to know this person I keep telling myself I’m in love with.

Because I don’t want us to end up like me and Rude. 

Or me and  _ him _ .

But I can’t articulate any of that shit, so I just cry instead. I run into his room and shut the door before I begin to sob quietly into the fluff and softness of his pillow. He doesn’t come in to talk to me. He is probably still scrolling up and down his phone, waiting for news on if his beloved chocobo will be at the next race.

I hate chocobos.

When I tell her about the hair dye thing, Elena says I should try dating apps. “I’m not breaking up with Reno,” I tell her. “I’m just upset.”

She frowns, her lips pursed together tightly. She’s sitting on her sofa, irritation ringing off her like flames. I can feel them from where I’m sitting across from her. “You two aren’t even exclusive,” she says. “He hasn’t asked you to commit, so you shouldn’t exist as if that’s the case.”

“What?”

“Find someone new.”

But I don’t want someone new. I want him to recognize how much I mean to him before it’s too late. 

“So we’ve explored someone who isn’t your type,” she goes on, tapping her chin and staring at her ceiling. “Maybe we should dig into that a bit more.”

I don’t want to dig.

“Someone who’s a bit more refined would be good.”

I don’t want someone refined.

“Someone who works in an office. Someone who has a real job.”

“I don’t buy into that,” I say, eyes narrowed. “Being a bartender is still a real job.”

“Gainful employment is the name of the game.” Then, she says, “And a lobster.” Unfortunately Aerith told her about the lobster deal and she is now holding it over my head like a treat for a dog. “Tifa, you deserve to date someone who will treat you to lobster.”

I do. But I also deserve Reno, don’t I?

Elena tells me to download an app called Gil Up, which sounds like a dating app where hetero women search out rich hetero men. It ends up being exactly that. When I ask, “But what am  _ I _ bringing to the relationship?”, Elena quickly responds: “Your tits.”

I feel so horrible even having this app on my phone. I don’t tell Elena, and I definitely don’t tell Aerith, but I figure I should give Reno some sort of ultimatum. It wouldn’t be fair otherwise. After all, I am somewhat in love with him, and besides, maybe he’s just been waiting for the opportune time to ask me to be his girlfriend. I should create that opportunity. I shouldn’t be so narrow-minded. I can’t force him to do anything he doesn’t want to, but also, I need him to promise me we’ll be together or I will cry a second time.

I tell him I’ll be at his place when he gets off work and he responds with a thumbs up emoji. By the time the clock strikes 1 in the morning, I hear the front door open and his tired footsteps trudge in. I was going to lie seductively on his bed, but that would give the wrong impression. Instead, I sit in the living room, dimly lit by the nearby lamp, and wrap myself in a large blanket so I can look approachable and comfortable. Non-threatening.

“You’re still up?” He sounds so tired. Maybe I shouldn’t do this.

Maybe I need some decorum.

I blurt out, “Why won’t you date me?”

He stops in his tracks. His whole body seems to freeze. He watches me, confused, as if he just stepped into the wrong house. “What? We are dating.”

“I meant, like, officially.”

“How does one officially date?”

I frown. “You’ve never asked me to be your girlfriend, so I figured you still thought this was casual.”

He freezes again. What part of what I said tripped him up? I have my answer soon enough. “Casual?” he repeats. “I’m… uh. Wow. Wow.” He comes over to sit beside me, muttering to himself in disbelief. My heart is racing. A part of me wants to forget this whole thing and flex my jaw on his dick. “It’s, I mean… I didn’t realize we needed labels.”

“But if we’re exclusive…” I wait as if he’ll finish the sentence for me. The silence between us is aggravating. “Why not just make it official?”

“Do you want a ring?”

“Well, no.”

“So what do you… want?”

I don’t know. I have no idea what I want. Some kind of show of commitment? More effort? One orgasm? A fucking lobster? 

I feel I may cry again, so I look away to gather my feelings. I want to ask him if he’s in love with me, but I’m afraid of the answer. I’m also afraid to admit I may be in love with him, even though now I’m embarrassed for that to be the case. A part of me is screaming, ‘ _ How can you not know what I want? It’s been three months! _ ’ I’ve been so open, so willing to share everything about myself for fear that it won’t even be enough. But maybe time is fake and none of this is real. Maybe he doesn’t believe in love. Maybe Elena is right and I should go where my tits are appreciated.

Suddenly, Reno scooches closer to me, wrapping his arm around my waist. I fall into him without resistance because I don’t want to argue. “Wanna go up to bed?” he asks, his voice a whisper against my ear. My answer is no, but I follow him anyway.

In the morning, while Reno is asleep and dreaming of his chocobos, I call Elena and ask her how many people she knows have found success with Gil Up. She says, "I know of ten people who are married from that app, two of whom bought premium memberships."


	6. Chapter 6

Like all dating apps, Gil Up has more men than women. I know this because the moment I sign up, I get seventeen requests, all from men within a five-kilometre radius. 

“This probably won’t work,” I tell Elena over the phone. She is giving me phone consultations because she’s so busy. I have a theory she’s just busy with Aerith.

“Sure it will,” she says. “Just remember: we’re uplevelling right now. You’re being presented a boon of men. Now, you just have to choose the right one.”

I have never been good at choosing the right one. 

Gil Up makes me feel cheap. After an afternoon of scrolling, I have stopped evaluating the quality of smiles and depth in each of their eyes, and moved on to evaluating the quality of their bank account. Many profiles will list things like ‘CEO’ or ‘Board of Directors’, almost as badges of honour. I skip through every profile that doesn’t list some sort of a concrete job. Gainful employment is the name of the game.

Reno calls me in the middle of his shift and I panic while I close the app and navigate to the call. He’s calling because he knows. He  _ has _ to. He can sense that I’m pulling away and that I am the best thing that’s ever happened to him, but he’ll never say that to my face and I am not sure I want him to anymore.

“Come over later?” he asks. It’s not direct. It’s actually so…  _ casual _ . It grates on my nerves. Has he always sounded this casual and I didn’t notice?

I want to decline but I say yes and continue to feel guilty while shopping for a rich boyfriend on Gil Up. When I see Reno later, I don’t say anything. He doesn’t invite me over to talk. He still hasn’t asked me anything about where I grew up.

In the morning, I creep out of his bed and find myself huddled in a corner of the living room, whispering to Aerith over my phone. “I definitely think I’m ready to be uplevelled,” I tell her.

She squeals. “Finally! Please get out of that man’s house and come meet me for spinach dip. We can swipe through Gil Up together.”

At first, I don’t think I should wake Reno, but in the end, I really don’t want him to hate me. I crawl into bed, tell him that I’ll be back and that I’m just meeting Aerith. He doesn’t even wake up.

Aerith loves the spinach dip at this Sector 7 dive bar. They open in the mornings for food and open in the evenings for drinks. Everything is 200 gil and it is advised you do not use the washrooms.

She is so distracted by the app on my phone that she doesn’t notice when the spinach dip and chips come to our table. “Oh my godddds,” she gasps, eyeing the device. “Some of these guys are ugly.”

“Nepotism doesn’t care about looks.”

“Yeah, well, you should,” she says. “Have you swiped right on anyone?” I haven’t. She knows I haven’t before she even gets the question out. Frowning, she says, “Come on, the point is to make an effort and actually meet people.”

I glance away. She’s right, but I woke up this morning at Reno’s place and I don’t think I can just pretend there isn’t still something going on with us. Even though it’s….  _ casual _ .

“Who would you swipe right on?” I ask her, leaning closer over the small, rickety table. “Show me who and tell me why. Maybe I’m just not approaching things the right way.”

“Okay.” Aerith gets really into this because she actually loves meeting new people. She’s talkative and social and flirtatious and fearless. She is the type of person dating apps are made for. Immediately, she shows me a profile: a dark-haired man who isn’t smiling. “He looks like he’s cooperative,” she says. “Like he’d understand the need for shared responsibilities at home.”

“He looks too much older than me.”

“He’s thirty.”

“He looks like that’s not true.”

Next, it’s a brown-skinned guy who’s grinning while he holds up a giant fish. “Oh! Oh! He fishes. That means he leaves the city. Huh? Huh?”

He’s good-looking, he has a genuine smile, and his profile says he’s on the board of directors of some transport company. And he doesn’t look like he’s pretending to be his age.

“I’m swiping right,” Aerith says, and does it without waiting for me to confirm. Next, there is a brunette in a luxury car on the Midgar Expressway. No. A redhead--absolutely not. A soft-faced twenty-eight year old. A buff, confident-looking twenty-five year old who looks like he sells gym memberships on the weekend. There is a blond. We’re not doing this.

“Wait, wait, hold on.” Aerith blocks my hand before I can swipe left right away. She focuses on the screen and scrolls a bit. “This guy is Shinra.”

“Who isn’t?” Shinra Corp produces energy and weapons, and energy-fuelled weapons. They employ nearly half the city. Recently, they’ve started producing a sponge cake where 100 gil of each sale is donated to asthma research. 

Aerith shakes her head. “No, I mean, like… he’s a Shinra.” She shows me her phone. There are no surnames allowed on Gil Up, but there is no mistaking someone from the Shinra family. Cool confidence, half-smirk, cold eyes that look like they’ve never seen joy. He is twenty-nine. His name is Rufus. All his profile has is an emoji of the Shinra logo. It’s obnoxious, but there is also something so powerful about a man whose profile is only his family crest. It hasn’t even been a whole day and I am already shallow enough for Gil Up.

“Swipe right,” I tell Aerith and she does so without a second thought. My heart beats faster. This is embarrassing. He probably has several girlfriends, all of whom have more to offer than tits. 

Aerith stays and swipes with me until late afternoon. We have replies from five men in an hour. Two of them ask about the colour of my bra. One sends an eggplant emoji with a question mark. Another sends a handcuff emoji. Hard pass. 

There’s still no reply from Rufus. Not like there would be.

“I’m going to head home,” I tell Aerith.

“Break up with Reno.”

“We’re not even together.”

Reno doesn’t call me for the rest of the day, so I fantasize what it would be like to leave him; to leave someone. I have no experience with that. I don’t know what it’s like to be the first one to say, ‘ _ You’re not my person _ .’ And, honestly, isn’t that a bit too mean? Besides, for a long time, they each were my person.  _ Him _ first, then Rude.

I find myself thinking about  _ him _ a lot when I’m alone these days. As I curl up on my sofa, flipping through TV channels in my apartment, I wonder if he ever thinks of me. Maybe he forgot about me--we were both kinda young at the time. Or, I was, at least. I was a year younger but I felt it. So inexperienced and naive about a lot of things. Too willing because I thought that was what was expected of me. Still, so desperate to be wanted, to be liked, that I followed him around like I was lost and he was my only beacon home. We gravitated towards each other, if I’m being honest. We were probably both lost.

At 7pm, Rufus swipes right. All he says is ‘hi’.


	7. Rufus

Our conversations are short. He uses clipped words, phrases that make it sound like he has more to say but doesn’t want to go to the trouble of typing it all out. He tends to message me in the evenings. “Because of work,” he writes, and I have to remind myself over and over again that he is heir to Shinra Corp. 

He doesn’t tell me. I look him up online somewhere between the first ‘hi’ and the invite to dinner at this exclusive diner in Sector 8. I say yes, of course, to the dinner, but the entire time I’m getting ready, it’s hard for me to believe it’s me he wants.

A week later, he picks me up around 6 in a car that smells like money. This is the first time I’m seeing him in person, and he’s incredibly handsome: a chiseled jaw, eyes that cut like the edge of a diamond, and a voice that is low, sultry, inviting. I feel like an imposter.

He says, “You’re beautiful.”

I feel like an imposter.

At the restaurant, under shimmering lights and waitresses in too-tight mini-skirts, we talk about our childhoods. Rufus talks a lot, at first sounding like someone who isn’t interested in the topic, but divulging family secrets by the end. “And my mom, you know… I mean, her addiction was worse.”

“Uh huh, uh huh.” I am so attentive because I feel he may dislike me if I’m not. I’m cold under his gaze but I don’t think there’s anywhere else I’d rather be. This isn’t like being in the sun, like being wanted, but I tell myself that I’m here with him so it has to mean something. 

“So tell me about yourself,” he asks, tracing the lip of his glass with his finger. “You’re from Nibelheim?”

I nod, but then shrug. “Yeah. But I’ve been in Midgar for maybe three-ish years now.”

“I’d say that’s still from Nibelheim.” When he says it, I want to agree, even though it really doesn’t make a difference either way. ‘ _ Ask me about my mom, _ ’ I want to say. ‘ _ Ask me important things so I can convince myself I don’t need to be in love with Reno.’ _

Reno texted me earlier but I didn’t reply. 

I don’t know if Rufus and I will actually become anything, so there’s no point to break up with Reno right away. Not to mention, I can’t fucking do it. I can’t say the words. I still want him to love me. Maybe.

But when Rufus orders for me, I realize maybe I actually don’t need Reno after all. I’ve never had a man order for me. I don’t know if I should be offended. I’m not. I feel important.

“Oh, also,” I pipe up, taking a quick look at the menu in front of me. “The lobster sounds good too.”

Rufus’ lips pull into a tight line. “You wouldn’t like it. It’s much too salty here.”

But what if I like salt? He hasn’t asked me any questions about my tastes. How can he be so sure he knows what I like?

For the record, I like saltier food over sweet food. I like sweets if they have a dull aftertaste, but nothing too strong. I don’t like a lot of milk products because they make me break out. I don’t know why. I like chocolate with nuts, but only if it’s dark chocolate, and usually only if it’s from home. I miss home, and all the comforts that came with it.

Rufus orders dessert for me too. “The sherbet is good here.” 

I don’t like sherbet, but I don’t complain when the icy, orange treat is brought to me, because I want him to like me. I want him to think of me when he goes home and skims through all the other girls he’s speaking to on Gil Up. I want him to realize that, out of all of them, I’m not a gold digger at all. In fact, I really want to know him. I care about his mom’s addiction; I care about the thing with his half-brother. I care that he works long hours.

He drops me at home around 10. The air is so thick with silent potential. I say, “I had a really good time tonight.”

He steps forward and kisses me. Attacks, more like. My back is against the door. One hand curls around the back of my neck; the other around my waist, gripping and then twisting in the fabric of my shirt as if to pull it. He is ravenous. He is closer than he was before. He kisses my neck.

_ Is _ this what I want?

He emits a low moan, his lips dancing down my shoulder. “You smell so good…” He is closer. He pushes against me.

The evening replays in my mind slowly. When his hand sneaks around the fabric of my shirt and touches my waist, grabbing and pressing against skin, I remember him opening up to me. It felt real. We felt like we could be real. 

He wraps both his hands around my waist now, pulling me closer while his lips kiss into my neck. Voraciously, aggressively. As if this is the only thing he wants. As if this is what he wanted all along.

Why would he tell me about his mom? Why would he talk to me about work? 

What is the point of all this?

I don’t know if I want to fuck him. I did, but I’m not so sure anymore. I’m afraid to say no because I’m afraid he won’t listen. And it’s not that I absolutely don’t want to. It’s just that I thought he cared about me and that doesn’t seem true anymore. So why would I want to fuck someone who doesn’t care about me? It’s complicated. 

I shut my eyes for a moment and think of Reno, who has never given me an orgasm but has at least wrapped his arms around me every night, kissed my forehead, and asked me if I’m cold. I want to call him and tell him I’m sorry. I want to tell Elena she’s wrong.

Rufus’ hand finds the waist of my skirt and he starts to tug at it like he’s trying to take it off. I clasp onto his hand firmly, which gets his attention. He looks at me, confused, with that same icy stare. ‘ _ No one says no _ ,’ his eyes tell me. 

I would’ve said yes if he asked to come in. 

“Good night,” I mumble before turning and pushing the door open. I don’t wait for him to say anything. I don’t want to hear his voice.

Without a second thought, I delete Gil Up on my phone and throw myself into bed without washing my face. I cry so hard that I’m afraid the neighbours will hear. 

I feel so used; like I’m something to look at, but never to know. This isn’t the first time a guy has been nice to me because he wants something, so I don’t know why it hurts so much. Maybe because I can still feel the imprint of his fingers on my skin, of his lips on my collarbone. Maybe because I’m thinking about what would’ve happened if I didn’t say no.

Eventually, I pull myself up from my bed and text Elena: “You were wrong.”

I also text Reno: “I think I love you.”


	8. Him

I can’t believe I told Reno I love him.

Aerith thinks I’m selling myself short. I know this because she told me so. “You’re so hot, and you’re so nice, and you’re so thoughtful--this is not the time to be settling!”

I frown. “I don’t think I’m settling.”

“What would Elena say?”

“Something that sounds like a proverb, maybe.”

“He doesn’t even go down on you!”

“I’ve never asked him to,” I bite back, glancing away stubbornly.

Aerith thinks that I shouldn’t have to ask him for these things. He should just know because he should know me so well by now. Reno and I have been seeing each other for four months now, and even though it’s not official and I had a brief flirtation with a CEO and Gil Up, I’m okay with where I am. 

What I’ve been trying to tell Aerith is that I wasn’t being fair to Reno before. He’s so different from Rude; he’s so different from  _ him _ . I expected Reno to say things or do things that maybe weren’t top of mind for him. It doesn’t mean that he’s wrong or I’m right--it just means we need to communicate better.

I work up enough courage to tell him that. Over the phone, of course. “I think we should communicate more.” 

He’s on his way to the bar to start his shift. “We talk a lot already.”

“But we don’t talk about anything important.”

“Yeah, we do.”

We don’t. “I’m just asking because I… wish I knew more about you.”

“Like what?”

We’re getting nowhere.

Reno says he’s gonna be late and we both hang up, even though it isn’t a mutual hanging up. He may actually have to go, but I’m only hanging up because I don’t want him to feel like his words bother me. Even though they do.

And he hasn’t told me he loves me back.

The security detail by my apartment has been ramped up over the past week after a woman says her package was stolen off her porch. We had a murder around the corner last year and the police only sent in a dog to sniff out the area. This, for a missing robot vacuum, feels excessive.

But because of this, I take the long way around to the front door.

I skip across the one way street instead of walking. 

I’m clutching my phone and not looking where I’m going, and this is why I bump into  _ him _ .

Oh my gods. 

_ Him _ .

My eyes are deceiving me. There’s no way… 

He stares back at me, piercing blue eyes probing my face, taking in the similarities. In his mind, he is imagining the girl he used to know against mountain backdrops and sweaty summer nights, and seeing how I match up to her. How much I look like her. How I could even be her.

And he looks so much like the boy I knew, the boy whose face I saw over and over again for years when I went to bed. His hand is on my elbow, steadying me against the sidewalk before I fall over. Even his touch is the same. Soft, reassuring, but so firm against my skin that it reminds me I couldn’t be anything other than his. In a second, my nervous heartbeat starts to quiet down. My feet come to shore. I’ve found my beacon.

“Tifa...?”

My name belongs on his tongue. He’s always been so good at saying it.

But I can’t say his. It’s been such a long time since I’ve even fixed my mouth around the sounds. I think I was afraid that if I said his name, he’d come back and I would have to deal with whatever that meant. The utter shame of being left for the first time by someone who was supposed to love you. And then realizing that maybe I don’t even know what love feels like.

Still, he’s looking at me and I’m looking at him and I’m sure in this moment I remember. 

And that… freaks me the fuck out.

“Oh - u-uh.” I step back, shifting my elbow from his grasp. “I th-think you have the wrong person.” A lie! 

I run into the front hall of my apartment building and race to my floor before throwing myself into my living room and locking the door behind me. I’m breathing so heavily even though it wasn’t that bad of a run. 

My bedroom window faces the side of the building with the entrance, so I spend too long scouring the street from above, hoping that I won’t see who I think I saw. I’m lost. I felt alone and trapped and thought I saw someone who meant a lot to me. I’m also under a lot of stress because I can’t communicate to my sometimes-boyfriend that I want more from our relationship. That I want a relationship. 

Everything is making me see things, making me feel things that I don’t need.

As I inch away from the window, I realize it doesn’t make sense.

Why would my mind conjure up Cloud Strife from nowhere?

**Author's Note:**

> Hihihi if you made it this far, thank you! :) Honestly, Tifa is a fave and I just wanted to write something fun about her and relationships and how uncertain they can be and how human communication is a struggle...! Chapters will be short because I like short chapters. Will probably post weekly unless I forget aaahhhh!


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